A Song Of Laughs And Farmers
by The Grey Coincidence
Summary: How certain scenes 'should' have gone down.


**A/N: "What is this Grey?" You ask. Well, I'm really busy these days- and stuck with writing my other fics *looks sheepish* not to mention behind on a bunch of reviews (so yes, this is procrastination) but Game of Thrones is over. You may have heard of this show (there are spoilers here- and fair warning, this story makes no sense if you aren't all up-to-date with the events of the show). It's definetly one of my favourites. I did like the ending of *some* characters, some others I didn't like but you know, I'm satisfied. **

**So this is my love letter to Game of Thrones- a parody devised by me and my siblings, of how Game of Thrones 'should' have ended. Major character assassination here- but mostly for the sake of comedy XD**

**I love Game of Thrones, and now it's over and well... this story is crazy (it's me getting over the grief of loosing one of my favourite TV shows) but it should be fun and there should be more on the way! (There's definetly going to be one more chapter at least :D)**

As Melisandre walked past the gates of Winterfell- and indeed past Ser Davos himself, she handed him a sword.

For a moment the Onion Knight was confused, then felt his grip tighten around the blade as he remembered Shireen.

"Ser Davos." The Red Witch spun around to face him. "Do your duty."

He raised the blade in reply, hesitated for a moment, and swung the sword.

* * *

"Aexiosono Ilon Misas!" The Red Woman chanted. The ruby round her neck pulsed with the flame of R'hllor, but the trench refused to catch fire. The dead were coming closer.

"Aexiosono Ion Misas!" She repeated. The Lord of Light would not, could not fail her now...

"Aexiosono Ion Misas!"

_*In the Godswood*_

The Three-Eyed Raven, that had once been Brandon Stark, turned to Theon. "They can't light the trenches."

Nodding in understanding, the Ironborn notched a flaming arrow upon his bow, drew the string as far as it would go, and loosed the arrow.

_*Back at the trenches*_

"Aexiosono Ion Misas!" There was a note of desperation in her voice now.

"Aexiosono Ion Misas!" Suddenly the flames leapt to life- incinerating a wight that had come uncomfortably close- and dancing before her eyes. The Lord of Light had not failed her it seemed.

_*Back in the Godswood*_

"Theon. That was a good shot. Thank you." Said the emotionless cripple.

* * *

"Theon." The adressed (and only remaining Ironborn anyways) turned to Bran. "You're a good man. Thank you."

Theon Greyjoy turned, his spear leveled at the King of Winter, and charged. This was his redemption. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. He was Theon Greyjoy and he would fight for his home, and for Bran... to his last breath.

The Night King casually deflected the deadly blade- which had felled many wights (indeed, more than any other weapon in Winterfell)- and brought his knee up between the eunuch's legs.

Theon smiled- he was smiling, always smiling- and brought a dragonglass dagger through the Night King's throat. "What is dead may never die." He hissed, as the Night King exploded.

"Theon. You're a good man." Bran repeated- but now he had emotion (he was shocked!). "Thank you."

* * *

The gates of Winterfell burst open, and in charged the Undead Giant, roaring loudly. Easily it batted aside Lyanna Mormont and stomped forwards, ready to wreck havoc upon Winterfell.

The Lady of Bear Island stood up, ignoring all pain, and charged with a final battle cry. This would be her dying day...

And it would have been, had Tormund Giantsbane not pulled her aside.

"Little girls shouldn't fight." The big ginger said with a grin. He turned to the giant and roared. "I'M GIANTSBANE!"

The giant wight gave a high-pitched scream (because part of becoming an ice-zombie involved freezing your vocal chords).

Tormund, in reply, gave a might roar that shook the grounds and walls (in fact the walls were shaken so severely that all the wights climbing them were knocked off by the strength of the vibrations).

The giant, in reply, knelt low and used it's fist to hammer Tormund into the ground. The great wildling would have been dead, had Lyanna Mormont not plunged a sword of dragonglass through the dead thing's eye.

"I killed a giant when I was ten." He said, half-dazed, half-surprised.

"I'm eight." The Northerner said with a scathing look.

* * *

The Night King slowly advanced towards Winterfell, when a pig-like squeal met his frozen ears. He turned to see one of his White Walkers- the one with the really long white hair he thought looked ridiculous, because _he_ didn't have hair- approaching a short, fat and curly-haired baker.

"I-I'll bake pies for you!" The boy was begging, pointing at a singularly beautiful blob of baked flour that smelled like winter- must have been the gravy.

The Night King, a curious fellow by nature, moved forwards and dipped a single finger into the pastry. He licked it clean with the smallest of smirks- and it was love at first taste. The soft gravy, the expertly laid-out butter, the wonderful blend of flavours...

His White Walker, who he didn't like anyways, was raising a frozen sword to slay the person responsible for this delicacy. Acting swiftly, yet with the slow calculated movements of the single greatest javelin thrower in Westeros (and Essos too, most likely) he hurled his spear directly through the long-haired White Walker.

Hot Pie swallowed heavily- having wetted his breeches- as the Night King pointed at his pie.

"What is this?" Said Death Itself.

"I-it's pie."

"Pie." The Night King repeated, as if tasting the word. Suddenly, the battle stopped. The ice-zombies crumpled to dust and all that remained was the Night King and his silent boy band of icey-faced White Walkers. "You will make pie for us. All of us."

And everyone lived, happily, ever after.

* * *

"Cersei's hateful." Jamie Lannister said, his voice as hollow as a dead tree. "And so am I." He made to mount the horse, but found his shoulders stuck in the vicelike grip of Brienne of Tarth.

"I'm sorry Jamie. But I can't let you rejoin an enemy of Sansa Stark."

"What the hell woman? I want to die in her arms!"

"The things I do for love." The big woman grimaced- before smacking Ser Jamie senseless.

* * *

"I didn't want to do this." Podrick admitted, his face as pale as the snow of Winterfell.

"Do what?" Roared Brienne of Tarth, as she hacked a wight clean in two.

Inexplicably the squire dropped his sword, stood up straight and closed his eyes.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone," Began the song.

"Pod!" The Maid of Tarth rushed forwards to save him from the incoming ice-zombies. But it was too late.

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts,"

Suddenly, the wights dropped to their knees, shrieking as they did.

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,"

Jamie Lannister, who had almost been overcome, stepped backwards, his sword upraised as even the ever-silent White Walkers stopped their advance. "What on earth..."

"And the ones who had loved her the most,"

The Night King, shedding tears at both the beautiful rendition- and because Podrick Payne sung at the exact note necessary to shatter ice and glass- exploded in a shower of frozen water.

Podrick coughed awkwardly, as all around him the survivors looked on befuddled at their sudden victory.

"Good job lad." Said Jorah Mormont, the first to overcome his initial shock. "I might've died."

Brienne, ever the disgruntled Knight, grimaced. "Kneel Podrick."


End file.
